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30 June, 2010

Sorry for the blogging hiatus, once again. I have learned that trying to blog every day for a month makes me extremely grumpy. Lesson learned: Never again! Don't worry, I will finish the next two promised series for my adoring fans (?), just not in the timely manner I promised.

Ahem. Let me just start out by saying that true friends dress up like X-Men for Halloween.

Me, Jordan, Vilja. Please ignore that this is an unattractive photo

of me and focus on V's "Rogue Face."

Also, true friends let you post pictures like these on the internet:

Vilja, age toddler.

Vilja, age adult.

Vilja and I were floormates in the dorms freshman year, and by the hand of God (no, seriously) were in the MTC together for 11 weeks in the summer of 2006. This girl pretty much saved my life with her humor, cool head, listening skills, soccer playing, and Jordan's care packages. Vilja shares my love of comic books and the English language and even let me be a "special guest" in her freshman English class. Hanging with her is always a good time.

23 June, 2010

Once upon a time I was a Mormon missionary in a country called Hungary.

(This is for all you nay-sayers who accuse me of making up all those mission stories

in order to sound like a more credible Sunday School teacher.)

Being a Mormon missionary is difficult for lots of reasons, but one of the really lame, migraine-inducing, massive-weight-gain-causing (Oh yeah, THAT caused it) nightmares about being a Mormon missionary is that:

1. You do not get to choose you live with and yet

2. You have to stay with that person ALL THE TIME.

Imagine how terrifying and frustrating that could be. Double the terror and frustration you just envisioned. There you have it.

Anyway, I remember taking my first companion (AKA my "trainer") to the train station on the day she was scheduled to return to the U.S. She loved being a missionary and was NOT excited about going home, so it kind of felt like taking a dog to the pound to be euthanized. I was very curious and also excited about what kind of companion was going to replace my trainer with me in Pécs. I knew her name--Sister Pollock--but that was it.

We served together for three glorious months and did not get sick of each other one bit.

I think it was because we were both converts? And because we were both silly. And because we both liked people more than meeting goals set by someone who didn't know anything about our city. We worked out butts off and had tons of fun. That's a magical combination when one is a Mormon missionary.

We visited lots of inactives, made a lot of chocolate rum balls (calm down, they were liquor-free), and listened to lots and lots of Disney music on P-day. It was with Sister Pollock that I learned that missions can be fun! Sometimes.

When I got home, Ashley had been home for a while, and helped me re-adjust to civilian life and such via constant texting. A mutual friend still refers to us as "siamese twins joined at the cell phone."

I like her because she is well-travelled.

Now she has a daughter who "accidentally" calls me all the time. But we all know it's no accident.

This child was thisclose to being named after me, if only my name were easier to pronounce.

22 June, 2010

Whenever you hear me start a story with "My best friend ..." this is who I am talking about. She and I have been friends so long it is totally pointless to explain how we met. That would be like explaining to a grain of sand the geological history of the Planet Earth.

Things Cori and I have done together:

1. Travelled to Japan.

2. Transported a goat in the back of a van.

3. Written and starred in an award-winning skit.

4. Studied belly-dance.

5. Driven my car backwards in a parking lot for over a mile to see if my odometer would reverse one mile (it did not).

6. Tied for second in a sushi-eating contest.

7. Stolen an entire pizza from the teachers' lounge.

8. Attended a VIP party at Nintendo headquarters.

9. Dug a huge 2003 into the hill next to our high school (before someone called the cops).

10. Seen Bob Dylan live.

11. Gone to Disneyland.

12. Gone to Tokyo Disneyland.

13. Skipped school to see the first three Harry Potter movies on their opening day.

14. Taken black-and-white photos of each other on the beach.

15. Snuck into a hotel to use the pool and eat the waffle breakfast.

16. Gotten locked inside the Husky Stadium after hours and escaped by climbing a fence (thus ripping holes in the crotches of our respective jeans).

17. Organized and starred in an award-winning dance performance.

18. Gone to a midnight showing of Lord of the Rings.

19. Bought baby clothes when neither of us were pregnant or even close to becoming pregnant.

20. Held spontaneous dance parties in our condo parking lot.

21. Invented a game called "green ball."

22. Attended a rained-out production of the Manti Temple Pageant (Neither of us knows how it ends, to this very day).

23. Nair-ed our legs, to less than spectacular results.

24. Walked like one million miles (literally) on the Burke-Gilman trail.

25. Always had fun no matter what we did.

Awwwwwwwwwww.

Dear Donovan and Dallin,

I know you probably can't picture your sweet-eyed Mormon mama doing some of the things I just listed above, but rest assured that she really is that cool. How lucky are you?

xoxoxoxoxo

Auntie Elisa

Guess how old we are in this picture? 17. Wait. I was 17, Cori was 16.

21 June, 2010

To answer the question that no one has asked, I have been busy/sick the past few days, and writing anything longer than a few sentences was too hard. I am sick today, as well, but slightly more lucid, so I will venture a continuation of this quote unquote "week."

Yeah, I know I don't need quotation marks if I already SAID "quote unquote." Shut up, dude. It's my blog. I do what I want.

Ahem. Anyway.

Look! It's Bob Glass!

Bob Glass is a good friend to have, especially because he has no clue what a good friend he is. You know how people who think they are humble can't possibly be humble, but people who think they are not humble actually are? Bob Glass is like that.

Bob Glass and I met because we ran in the same circles as Pamela, David, Olivia, and other such members of the Provo Badassery. However, we were then but acquaintances. I recall him coming over a few times, and we spent a fine afternoon discussing music and listening to the crazy math-based jams of Dave Soldier, but when I left Provo I thought I would never see him again.

Then I moved to Seattle. Pow! My first day of church, who did I see? It took me a minute to figure out who he was, and another second to get over the fact that he was 1. at church and 2. in Seattle, but then all that gave way to happiness at seeing a familiar face.

I don't remember a lot about what happened after that. We went to Karaoke, and talked a lot. Somewhere along the line we started texting like crazy folks, and that is how he became one of my favorite people. He is a good person to talk to about awkward topics (code name = "Science") because he never gets shocked or embarrassed. Trust me, I have tried. He also keeps secrets. He is now my go-to guy for soul-baring, and he bears it well.

I think Bob Glass is neat. He takes good care of me and the food he makes for me when I am depressed (or just hungry) is quite delicious. Also, with him I can be myself, even if the version of myself at the time is whiny or dumb or crying over something really stupid.

It's like this, only less Southern and more Rock and Roll.

He is also man enough to apologize when he does something really bone-headed. I won't mention specific instances.

17 June, 2010

This week's theme is pretty self-explanatory. I am going to write about some of the people I love most in the world. Obviously, since the theme lasts only a week, I will be leaving some people out. The fact is, I love a lot of people, much more than seven (-ish). I hope those who don't get featured won't take this as an opportunity to be offended. I still love you a lot. Or maybe you need to up your efforts to get on my good side, hmmmmmmm?

Anyway, let's dive into our first subject, shall we?

This is Brooke Marie Parker.

She is beautiful, but that is not why I love her.

Brooke was in my ward, the one I really really liked, when I lived in the yellow house in South Provo. Although she lived across the street from me, we didn't know each other very well into she and I ended up in the same screenwriting class Winter semester. The class was small (only fifteen people), and went fairly late into the evening, so since we were neighbors and didn't want to walk hom in the snow alone, we started walking home together. I remember feeling nervous that Brooke, who was 19 at the time, was going to think I was too old and too square to be cool. Luckily, we eventually overcame that seemingly insurmountable barrier of five years.

Isn't it silly the kind of things that seem to matter much more in Provo than anywhere else, like age? Provo is so weird.

Anyway, Brooke is basically me at whatever age she happens to be (currently 20) only cuter, smarter, more confident, less self-destructive and much more level-headed. She is the me I wish I had been, and she will most certainly grow into someone I will wish I could be. She is incredibly talented, perceptive, and fun. She is a wonderful listener and one of the least judgmental people I know. Most importantly, she allows me to (s)mother her even though she doesn't need it, and even though I usually learn more from our conversations than I am able to teach.

Brooke helped me look for Sego when he was lost for an entire evening last summer. She accompanied me on stargazing trips when I took that astronomy class that I hated. We rode bikes to our community garden, went for long walks, ate delicious food, and watched movies together even after the homework for our screenwriting class was over.

16 June, 2010

I saved the deadly sin of lust for last, mostly because I have no idea what to write about it. I've gone the celebrity route much too recently, so that's out. And I could, ostensibly, write about someone I have a crush on, but unfortunately that's no one at the moment. Which, in some ways, is even more depressing than unrequited love. I dunno, maybe it's sort of a tie.

I was going to post a bunch of pictures of women I am jealous of, but my attention span is already waning really dramatically, so I am just going to say: Mr. Russell is right. Envying others is pretty silly, because the grass is always greener on the other side of history, etc. If we could all read minds, no one would be envious of anyone else, because all your pain and low self-esteem and horrible memories and cellulite would be obvious to everyone else, instead of just you.

I do legitimately envy people with kids even though I am fully aware that parenting is really really hard. But, what are you gonna do.

It has seriously tapped all my remaining energy to write as much as I have. I would just like to say that sometimes I get sad that I don't look like her:

14 June, 2010

I have learned a very sad fact about myself. Setting a goal to do the same thing every day for one month is too much for me. Unless that thing is:

1. Taking my vitamins.

2. Flossing my teeth.

3. Charging my phone.

4. Taking my dog to the park.

5. Staying away from drugs and alcohol.

In short, I have no discipline. Sorry I was MIA all weekend, guys.

To be fair, my mom was in town this weekend AND it was my aunt Maurine's birthday party and there were lots and lots of events, social and otherwise, that required my attention. Also, I went to church twice because somehow I thought that would make up for missing the first 15 minutes of Sacrament. I do not know why. Maybe I just really like church. Anyway.

Gluttony! It's a fun word. I think I am guilty of gluttony like, every day. That should be obvious, because I am overweight. How else could you explain it? Do you think I have some sort of gland problem? Heck no. I eat too much = getting fat = sad and alone. Luckily, I am working on eating less and have lost an undisclosed amount of weight. I am proud of myself for this.

Here are some foods that make NOT being gluttonous really hard for me, because they are so delicious.

1. Chocolate milk.

2. Macaroni and cheese.

3. White chocolate chip and Macadamia nut cookies.

4. Curly fries.

5. Nachos.

6. Banana ice cream. Not ice cream with a banana on top of it, you idiot. BANANA ICE CREAM. The only kind of ice cream I really can't live without. If you know me, you know this.

7. Mayonnaise. I know mayonnaise isn't by definition bad, but eating too much of it definitely is. Also, is this picture creepy or what?

12 June, 2010

Sorry, guys. Apparently I took the "sloth" thing a little too far yesterday and forgot to post. Fail. To be fair, I was helping my aunt clean her house and then walking around Greenlake with Judith, so it's not like I was lazing about getting fat. Anyway, I thought about posting this one retroactively but I think I will just post twice today. Consider this a day of many sins.

Were you mad that I didn't post yesterday? Probably not. But if you were, that's a sin. The sin of wrath (which is basically anger) is one of the SEVEN DEADLY SINS. I assume that righteous anger is not a sin, however I also assume that only Jesus has truly righteous anger. What do you think?

In honor of wrath, here are some things that really piss me off.

1. Bad parenting.

2. Bland food.

3. When people lend my stuff out to other people without asking me.

4. Being asked about my finances by adults I don't know.

5. Overly aggressive salespeople.

6. People who insist on being exclusive for no good reason.

7. Capital One. It's story for another time, but those bastards are going down, just as soon as I draft that letter to the Attorney General. Hey, guys. Remember how you gave a third party company permission to withdraw money from my checking account without my permission? REMEMBER THAT??

8. Bad writers who act like they are really good writers (I'm looking at you, Nicholas Sparks).

9. Misogyny.

10. Homophobia.

11. Eh, bigotry in general.

12. People who are so loyal to one genre that they close their mind to all other genres. I'm think of Indie Music, but there are lots of examples.

09 June, 2010

Here is the really tricky, disconcerting thing about pride. I don't think I have that much of a problem with it, BUT DOESN'T THAT BY DEFINITION OF THE WORD MEAN THAT I DO?? The whole concept kind of makes me brain explode.

The stupidheads at Merriam-Webster (How I loathe them! How I long for the OED!) define pride as "inordinate self-esteem, conceit."

I can be prideful, of course. I am rather conceited about myintelligence and my writing skills. Judge for yourselves if my conceit about my writing ability is "inordinate" or not. But don't tell me either way, because it might hurt my feelings. Oh yeah! I am also prideful about thinking I am funny. Sometimes I am not funny at all, which is pretty disappointing.

I generally associate pride with vanity about one's appearance, clothing, etc. I used to be very vain about my perfect skin when I was in middle school. Then the last month of eighth grade I got the chicken pox. I haven't been vain about my skin since, mostly out of fear.

Sometimes I get vain about my appearance when I see pictures like this, and think to myself, "Look! I'm so pretty!"

See, I used to be pretty attractive before I gained all that weight on my mission.

Then I recall the existence of pictures like this, and I immediately humble myself.

Bring us a basin! We're going to be sick!!

These pictures were taken within a few months of each other, too. So it's not like my looks changed that much. I just have lots of ugly angles.

I don't know if I have anything else to say about pride. Except that I am too awkward and ridiculous to get too prideful about anything, and if I ever do get a little prideful, God sees fit to humiliateme (orallowmetohumiliatemyself) invariousways. So, thanks for keeping me in check, God.

08 June, 2010

I haven't decided exactly what I want to do with this week's theme--if it should be a reflection on a specific example or a list, or just a free-write. So, in the seat-of-my-pants spirit that birthed blogging back in the '90s, I am just going to start writing and see what comes of it.

I think I am about as greedy as the average American. I don't care as much about having nice things as some people, but I would like, for example, an iPhone. I don't even know why. Wait! Yes I do! Because of the Google Maps app. Anyway, I also buy clothes at thrift stores even when I probably shouldn't.

Right now I cannot afford to be greedy because I have lots and lots of medical bills. However, that did not stop me from buying a six-dollar book today. I shan't tell you what book it was.

Greedy also has a non-acquisition connotation, I suppose. Of all the Deadly Sins, Greed is the only one that relates directly to coveting, which is one of the Ten Commandments. Or rather, NOT coveting is one of the Ten Commandments. That makes sense because if you want something but don't want to earn it for yourself, that might cause you to break other commandments like "Thou Shalt Not Kill" or "Thou Shalt Not Use Credit Cards."

Wait a second! Coveting is more related to envy than greed, isn't it? Eh, it's kind of a toss-up.

I've said it before, and I'll say it again, I am PISSED that I no longer have access to the OED through the BYU library. That should have been a lifelong perk, for crying out loud! Was that a greedy thing to say? Shut up.

That makes sense. So if I want an iPhone, that's not greed, but rather coveting, but if I want TWO iPhones for some strange reason, that's greed.

I don't want two iPhones, so I guess I'm solid. Next.

Just kidding! I don't know if I have anything else to say about Greed, though. Except I didn't know it was a backformation from the adjective "greedy." I thought it was the other way around. Who knows if the stupid Merriam-Websters even know what they're talking about, though. I SERIOUSLY CANNOT LIVE WITHOUT THE OED.

I think the only thing that I genuinely want more of than I need is food. Which we'll save for Day Five.

07 June, 2010

Perhaps the fact that I have yet to blog about this until today is not so shocking? Oh, well.

When I die, assuming I do not outlive my good friend Ashley, she plans to eulogize me as follows:

"Elisa had a gigantic rack, and no butt."

Then she will sit down and people will wonder if they are being punk'd. I love the idea of my last concrete influence on earth being a surreal experience. I like to make life a little bit surreal every day as it is. Which is why I gave this eulogy the green light when Ashley and I were serving as missionaries together in Pécs.

She's right, unfortunately. I am overall a curvaceous person, but my butt is embarrassingly flat. This breaks my heart a little bit every day. This is also the reason why I don't wear pants very often.

Sadly, the only way to obtain a more voluptuous backside involves gaining weight, and I certainly don't want to do that.

I am resigned to a life of never fully enjoying the following songs (NSFW):

This one is by far the best video.

Luckily, I can still enjoy this because it makes no reference to size. Good thing, because this one of the best movies of all time.

06 June, 2010

You will soon understand why this is the best present I have ever gotten.

My favorite color is red. Do some people not know this? That is because I have never blogged about it.

You might think my favorite color is blue, because I wear a lot of blue, but that is incorrect. My favorite color is red.

I like red because it is sexy without being hyperfeminine. It is also powerful and important. I want to be all those things.

Bonus: my favorite animal is the hippo. If I could be any animal, I would definitely want to be a hippo. They don't stress about their looks and just hang out in the water all the time. Everybody likes them. Also, they kill more people every year than lions. They are totally awesome.

05 June, 2010

This post has been in the works for a million billion years. AND HERE IT IS!!

Some people have lots of pet peeves. I only have a few. Which gives me the right to take them very, very seriously.

My Pet Peeves:

1. When people leave their grocery carts in the parking lot instead of returning them to the designated area. I never worked as a cart wrangler (or whatever they're called) but I imagine it is one of the most annoying jobs in the world. I don't like it when people make other people's bad jobs even worse.

2. When people leave garbage in the movie theater. Similar to the justification for #1 but also, seriously, can't you pick up your own trash? Just throw your candy wrappers and popcorn cups away. Not that hard.

3. When people take pleasure in killing living things. This particularly bothers me with spiders. I lovespiders. All they want to do is live and make the world a better place by eating all the mosquitoes!

4. When people mispronounce my name. Rhymes with Teresa, guys. Once again, not that hard. Also, that's an S, not a Z. Please go home and practice your alphabet. There is no excuse for so many people in this crazy world to get Vilja Hynynen's name right and yet mispronounce mine. V, you said you wanted a "shout-out" on my blog. Does this count?

5. When people (especially men) speak to me in a condescending manner. Allow me to provide an illustrative example.

Today I took a standardized test called the WEST-B. It's a test for prospective teachers to determine whether they have the basic mental function to be entrusted with other people's children. Literacy, basic math, etc. At the test site in Renton, they also administer specialized tests so teachers can be certified to teach subjects such as math, science, special education, and so one. Consequently, there were a lot of people there.

One has to turn in one's cell phone before taking a test, and while I was standing in line to do this I noticed that the guy standing next to me was cute. I struck up a friendly conversation (it was early, I have no idea what I actually said) and when I noticed he was carrying a graphing calculator, asked what test he was taking. Cute math teacher has to be a win, right?

Not exactly. He got all cocky looking and said, "Yeah, I'm taking the MATH test."

The girl standing nearby overheard and piped up (teachers seem to be a neighborly bunch) "Oh, really? That's a hard test. I flunked it the first time." This last part she said with an embarrassed look on her face.

My new boyfriend, however, thought this was right sportive. He LAID INTO this poor girl, saying something like, "REALLY? You FAILED it? SERIOUSLY? I can't believe that..." Blah blah blah until I maybe wanted to punch him in the face.

Then he turns to me, looking all satisfied and, while doing this weird calf stretch thing that I think was intended to show off his muscles or something, asked me, "So, what are you taking?"

I responded, "The WEST-B. All three sections."

His response was, "ALL THREE? Ha. Good luck with that! You shouldn't have signed up for all three at once! You will be in there right until the bell rings. I like, barely finished." Implying, of course, that if he barely finished, hell if I was going to manage to figure out the instructions.

I finished with an hour to spare. Take that, meathead. He probably can't even read.

04 June, 2010

I used to write poetry. I haven't in years, but some of it was pretty good. Even after I switched my major from English to Linguistics, I took all the poetry classes I could weasel my way into.

SEEMINGLY UNRELATED TANGENT!

The summer I was 20, I was crazy in love with this 29-turning-30 dude in my ward/condo complex named ... for privacy's sake, let's call him Dan Blatt. He looked like a potato and was severely mentally ill, but I liked him because he was "interesting." Terrible idea. But let's not waste time revisiting my bad taste in men.

Anyway, that Fall semester, I enrolled in my first poetry class, which I was really excited about. Our professor was a really quirky cowboy-type guy who insisted we could only write form poetry--"No free verse until you've earned it!" Our first assignment was to write a villanelle, and we had almost three weeks to do it.

I kept trying to write love poems to the aforementioned boy, but nothing came. A fortnight passed and I started to get really, really frustrated, and even doubted that I had any future as a writer at all.

Then, on September 11th, he dumped me. I came home from eating ice cream with my best friend and this poem came pouring out of me, just like butter. Go figure.

Until now, the only people who have seen this poem are my 319 class (which was like ten people), Cori and Brooke.

Ode to Dan Blatt (September 11, 2005)

"You won't be needing THIS."

Dan Blatt, I hate your stinking guts.How could you be this cruel to me?Dan, you are such a freaking putz.

03 June, 2010

A while ago, Bob and I had the following conversation. To provide some background without giving anything away, I had met a boy whom I thought was cool, and then changed my mind about wanting to pursue him (this will all make perfect sense in a minute).

Me: Yeah, no. I'm not going for that anymore.

B: How come?

Me: That was strike three. He's out.

B: I beg your pardon?

Me: You know, my Three Strikes rule. I've told you about that.

B: No, you haven't.

Me: Seriously? Well, did you read my blog entry about it?

B: (silently pitying me for going senile at such a young age)

Whoops. I really thought I had blogged about this at least once. But I checked the archives and ... guess not. Well, here you go. This has the unfortunate potential of being one of those blog entries that is not interesting to anyone but me.

I have a nasty habit of pursuing men long after they have proved to be bad news. Sometimes, they start out nice and then turn mean, and yet I keep mentally returning to the memory of the initial niceness, and inwardly insist that they will likely turn nice again. This never happens.

Other times, the guy is mean to begin with, but I convince myself either that:

1. He is only mean because he is so troubled, and my love will save him OR

2. He is mean, yes, but that only makes it even more worthwhile and exciting when he IS nice and is therefore worth waiting around for.

I don't have to tell you that these never end well, either.

The Three Strikes Rule is something I came up with to combat this irrational and unwise tendency of mine. I am aware it's not exactly reinventing the wheel, but I have bad taste in men*, and for now this is the best I can do.

The Three Strikes Rule is thus:

A boy I think I might be interested in pursuing gets two free passes to pull a boneheaded move (with or without proof of intent). After the third, I walk. Stipulations:

1. The move in question can be a sin of omission (ignoring me at a social event when he knew I was there) or commission (saying or doing something intentionally rude or mean).

2. As I stated above, there needn't be any concrete proof of intent, but the move must be genuinely hurtful and not just a product of my sky-high expectations (not that they're actually sky-high, let's be honest). For example, failing to buy me a present for some pointless occasion is not a strike. Flirting with another girl in front of me is.

3. Any act of physical violence counts as two. And yeah, I know that sounds soft. I never said it was a perfect system.

4. Sometimes the act doesn't have to be hurtful, but rather simple proof that said male is either not interested or interested in other people. Flirting with other women in front of me also falls in this category.

5. "You're out" doesn't have to mean forever, it simply indicates that the subject is not worthy of attention for now. The whole thing restarts after an indeterminate period of time.

I have been honing and practicing the system for approximately a year, and so far it is going OK. The really funny thing is, I don't like or understand baseball at all.

02 June, 2010

This may shock you, because it kinda shocked me, but I have NEVER WRITTEN ANYTHING ABOUT SCIENCE FICTION ON MY BLOG. This is one of those massive, embarrassing oversights that needs to be corrected, STAT. It's true, I have mentioned offhand my love of StarWars and StarTrekacoupletimes, but, much like my ode to sandwiches yesterday, which I hope you all enjoyed (And thanks for the recipe, Aims!) I have not yet given my love of science fiction its due. So, here it is.

I love any movie or television series that is set in space. Or any movie that centers around science fiction, however remotely. You know Hugh Dancy's character in The Jane Austen Book Club? Pretty much my dream dude.

My family didn't have a lot of traditions when I was growing up. At least, not ones that I can remember. However, one weekly tradition that I still recall with fondness was sitting together in our living room and watching Star Trek: the Next Generation every week. My parents got the off-white couch that was actually a hide-a-bed (which was so heavy that we cursed its existence every time we moved ... which was often) and I got the green bean bag chair which was filled with ACTUAL BEANS. Around season five of the show, the beans started leaking out and driving my mother crazy. She took to vacuuming during the closing theme each week.

Non-believers will mock me for saying this, but Star Trek really does have something for everyone. In any given episode of TNG, there was usually a romantic/human interest subplot and an action/adventure subplot. There would be moments of humor and tenderness and tension all packed into one glorious hour. My dad is very much a heavy-handed crime show/sci-fi kind of guy, whereas my mom leans much more towards light-hearted mystery novels and romantic comedies. At the time, I was like six and enjoyed anything with interesting-looking people that I could pretend to be on the playground. We all thoroughly enjoyed Star Trek. It was a really, really good show.

I never watched Star Trek: the Original Series, but I watched Next Generation and Voyager faithfully. My parents were really into Deep Space Nine, but when that show was on the air I was too immature to understand the slightly more mature thematic elements that characterized DS9, and was thus easily bored by it. By the time Enterprise came along, I was living on my own without a television. I would say that my love of Star Trek lay dormant for many years, for although I watched the one season I had of it on DVD when no one else was home (until an insane klepto roommate made off with it a few years ago) I never really admitted to liking Star Trek in public. Then, one day, I saw this preview at the Cinemark 16 in Provo, Utah and I very nearly pissed my pants with excitement. J.J. Abrams, I may not love all you do, man (*cough cough LOST cough cough*) but thank you, good sir, for making Star Trek sexy again. Assuming it ever was.

The truth is, I have always really loved and admired the Star Trek universe, and by extension all Science Fiction universes, even though some of its most ardent devotees are admittedly kinda crazy. My dad made me watch Star Wars on a fairly regular basis as a child because he felt I was too "full of passion" (probably true) and needed to be reminded of the danger of succumbing to pure emotions such as anger. He also made me meditate all the time. I wish I were joking. Perhaps this tainted my fond memories of Star Wars with a little bit of daddy issues, but I still really enjoy the movies, so don't worry. I plan to continue the Thanksgiving tradition I totally stole from my Provo family (specifically Ekitzel) of watching all three Star Wars movies after Thanksgiving dinner (the original theatrical versions, for crying out loud). Future husband, you have been warned.

I think the reason why Star Trek appeals to me slightly more than Star Wars is that it is more orderly and humane, and thus a lot less realistic. Everything in the Star Trek world is clean and generally peaceful, and even when people die, there isn't any blood. That was the kind of life I craved during my topsy turvy childhood. Star Wars is messy and scuffed and people are just as complex and greedy as they are in real life. It was still escapist, mind you, but slightly less so. In the Star Trek future they don't even have money! It's a liberal dreamland!

Oh, my gosh. Is Star Trek the reason I became a Socialist?

Star Trek is the future I wish for, even though Star Wars is the future we are more likely to get.

01 June, 2010

I can't believe I haven't devoted an entire blog post to how much I love sandwiches. I have mentionedthem offhand once or twice, but not once have I given sandwiches their due, considering how deeply I care for them.

I really love sandwiches, guys.

Here's the thing. I hate cooking. Well, that's not entirely true. I like cooking for other people, and I like following recipes. When it comes to cooking with Bob or Greg or Ashley, I can't get enough, because they tell me what to do and whatever we come up with is always delicious. However, I am not a creative or recreational cook. I do not like eating enough to bother making exotic, complex meals for myself. I do not like opening a cupboard and figuring out how to make dinner without having an idea of what I want to make beforehand. I will be a lousy housewife. But we all knew that already.

I am a vegetarian, as you know, so most of my meals consist of plant ingredients. I could be quite happy subsisting on rabbit foods for an inordinately long time. In fact, I recall that my sophomore year in college, I ate only raisins, almonds, celery, apples, and vegetarian corn dogs (which I could also easily devote an entire blog post to). Not coincidentally, this was when I was at my thinnest and sexiest. If MorningStar hadn't stopped carrying those magnificent corn dogs, I would totally go back on that diet.

Anyway, my point is, I don't mind eating the same food over and over, and I am often too intimidated to try COOKING something new because I'm afraid of screwing it up. It's true. I ruin everything. I have ruined macaroni and cheese.

I suppose that technically, one could ruin a sandwich, but even I haven't managed to do that yet. Burning grilled cheese sandwiches doesn't count, seeing as that's not a cooking issue, but rather a "I am retardedly impatient and have ADHD" issue.

Oh yeah! I just remembered that my sophomore year of college I invented the Peanut Butter and Lettuce sandwich. So I must have eaten that too, back in 2005.

2. I have blogged about this specific sandwich before, but I should just reiterate that grilled Muenster cheese + raspberry jam + sliced pears = bliss in my mouth.

3. Also courtesy of Robbie, strawberries + cream cheese + nutella = much delicious, though not very nutritious.

4. The aforementioned peanut butter and lettuce sandwich probably sounds gross, because it kinda is, however the overarching idea is that peanut butter tastes good with lots of things, not just jam. For example, peanut butter and sprouts is really good. Peanut butter + honey + sprouts + banana = surprisingly good and fibrous.

5. I ate poultry and fish when I was in high school, which was when I discovered the wonder that is the Thanksgiving Leftover Sandwich: turkey, cranberry sauce, cream cheese, lettuce, tomato, and whatever else you want. Well, turns out that kind of sandwich is good without turkey, too.

So in honor of my blog's second birthday on March 31st of this year, I kept toying with the idea of doing some sort of commemorative theme for the week before or after. Then I got busy and lazy, March 31st came and went, and I did absolutely nothing.

However, in the words of someone smart, maybe Gandhi, something is (usually) better than nothing. So for the month of June I am hosting four themed weeks, with a post every day, for no reason at all. They shall be as follows:

Week 1: I Can't Believe I Haven't Blogged About X

A few things that are important to know about me as a person, that I somehow have not yet devoted an entire blog entry to.

Week 2: The Seven Deadly Sins

Exactly what it sounds like. Reflections on the seven deadly sins, which most of my readership cannot even list. Except you, of course, Mom.

Week 3: My Favorite People

A few affectionate biographies of some of the most important people in my life. There will only be seven so spare me the complaints if I don't include you, I promise you still matter a lot.

Week 4: My Mom Was Awesome

Pictures of my mom, being awesome, from a long time ago, brought to you by my (brother's) new scanner!

I suppose I could argue that the real purpose behind this is to see if I am capable of any sort of discipline whatsoever, seeing how I am patently incompetent at disciplining myself in my professional or personal life.